The Calling
by Hirotani
Summary: Under the influence of the Black Breath, Faramir wanders the line between Life and Death. The King is calling him, but will he return?


Title: The Calling  
  
Author: Hirotani  
  
Summary: Under the influence of the Black Shadow, Faramir wanders between Death and Life.  
  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: All names, places, characters, etc. are copyright J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  
Dedication: This writing is dedicated to Professor J.R.R. Tolkien's birthday, Jan. 3 1892. May he live forever in the hearts of his readers!  
  
Feedback: Feedback is appreciated.  
  
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My eyes opened to darkness. Not the soft, comforting curtain of night when the stars shone a fiery blue through the open window as I lay in bed, a child still, listening to the peaceable nightly noises of the city below and my brother's muffled snoring from down the hall. This darkness was the dark of my nightmares, some uncanny conception by the Dark Lord to render the most brave-hearted of Men cowering in shame. The sheer terror of the winged, black riders' shriek thrived in this intense darkness -- this shadow inescapable.  
  
A slow-moving river flowed nearby, quietly lapping the shoreline, though I could not see it. Some inner reasoning, which had not been dulled by the crushing dark, understood the river for what it was. I had come to the brink of the Doom of Man, the doorstep of Death and all its secrets which lie in the land beyond this river -- the river which separated me from my much-lovèd brother.  
  
Above me, the Riders still screeched, unable to pass beyond and be at peace, and nor were they able to take pleasure in the living realm. But I, I was ready to cross this river, the only boundary which now remained between Boromir and myself.  
  
"Faramir..."  
  
A voice! A faint whispering voice called my name, beckoning me to return to the living world and the light. It was a kingly voice, and visions of tall kings crowned in splendour, white ships, and a white tree passed through my mind. Stubbornly, I took another step towards the river; there was nothing left for me in Middle-earth. All that I loved and held dear had passed away, had crossed this river, and soon I would join them in the eternity beyond that no living Man knows.  
  
"Faramir..."  
  
The voice came again, no longer so faint, still calling my name, commanding with tender authority. No, nothing on Middle-earth could bring Faramir son of Denethor back! It was a grim thought, for always have I been considered less strong-willed than my brother, yet now it was my turn to become adamant. I took another step.  
  
Through the dark, over the slow-moving river, a hazy figure formed. At first it was vague, appearing like nothing more than a wisp of fog over the Anduin. Swiftly the mist took shape, becoming a tangible reality. The sight itself brought tears to my eyes.  
  
"Boromir."  
  
His sweet name left dried and cracked lips, softer than a whisper. My breathing turned ragged as I sought not to weep, for he used to tease me as a child, saying that a soldier of Gondor never wept. My beloved brother's image was as noble as it had been the day I saw him floating down the Great River. I hardly dared to blink for fear that he would leave me if I were to so much as close my eyes for a second.  
  
"Faramir..."  
  
That voice came again, more compelling than it had been previously; nothing, however, could be more compelling than the vision of Boromir. I took another step forward, tears of joy running freely down my heated face, ready to join my brother, my protector, my friend. Boromir shook his head no, a wistful smile touching his lips at the antics of his little brother.  
  
'No,' his eyes said. 'Not yet, little brother. Life still has so much to give you.'  
  
"Boromir!" I cried, despair once taking ahold of my senses. "I do not want to leave you!" A booted foot splashed into icy, black waters of the river. Shocked at the cold, I nearly pulled my foot back, but doggedly took another step, a hand reaching out, seeking acceptance.  
  
Boromir shook his head again. 'Patience, little brother. The King has returned. Hark! he calls for you. Go back.'  
  
I listened as Boromir instructed, and the voice came again: "Faramir..." The kingly voice was stronger still, putting forth all the power it had.  
  
"Boromir..."  
  
'I know, Faramir. I will be waiting here for you. Return to the King now.'  
  
Reluctantly, I turned, rejecting Death, and embraced the voice that called to me, pulled me away from Boromir.  
  
My eyes opened again, but this time there was light, and the King sat before me, venerable and wise. Love and fealty for the king blossomed in my breast, and mingled with my grief.  
  
"My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?"  
  
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This is my first attempt at a fanfiction featuring one of my favourite brotherly bonds in Middle-earth, so I hope I do the pair some justice! Of course, this is my interpretation of Faramir's struggle, and by no means is supported fully by canon.  
  
Warm thanks to Sentomegami for beta-reading. Any remaining mistakes are of my doing.  
  
Happy 112th Birthday, Professor Tolkien. Long may your memory live!  
  
Hirotani 


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